Superficial Fascia
by Mail Jeevus
Summary: [MelloxMatt] It was funny, really, the way their relationship worked. It was strangely symbiotic, not that either would admit that. Not until a time after Mello showed up.  Fate decides petty things, after all, and lives are no different. [Multichaptered]
1. Introductions and Unwanted Addictions

**Title: **Superficial Fascia

**Rated: **T for language and inappropriate content. X3 This may change over time.

**Author's Note;;**

Hey, all. This isn't quite my first fanfiction on this site, but it is my first under this name. This first chapter is rather slow, but it's only [as was addressed in the title an introduction.

Read and Review, lovelies.

THIS IS A GIFT FICTION FOR MY DARLING MAHRI, WHO WAS ALWAYS THERE TO FILL MY MELLO x MATT ADDICTION. HE'S ALSO MY FAVORITE ASIAN.

**I. Introductions and Unwanted Addictions**

It never snowed in Los Angeles.

The phenomena in that large city was almost as rare as rain in the Sahara, or perhaps Kira dancing naked in front of Near, or anyone for that matter. And yet, on the day that Mello decided to step out of his rundown shelter of another's apartment, this rarity decided to unleash its surreal torrent onto the sidewalks and streets of the downtown below.

The blonde let loose a small 'humph' from the back of his throat, which turned out to be more of a dissatisfied gurgle due to the presence of chocolate-flavoured bile that had risen there. It wasn't his fault; the newly fallen snow had provoked him to stop and stare, despite his better nature, annoyed and not a little awed. And so, his addiction was neglected and left to gather at his breathing passageways, until he finally choked and swallowed, uttering a few well-placed curses as he continued his stride.

Mello was quite out-of-place among all this white in his customary sleek black leather, which was currently covered by a heavy, hooded jacket. It served two purposes: keeping him warm and out of the frozen rain, and keeping his scarred face concealed from anyone who may be looking out for him.

Kira, namely. Though it was doubtful the murderer would be out and about of his own accord; it was more likely that he would have sent one of his presumably many minions, or someone from the Japanese Task Force, which was probably under his control now that L was dead.

He exhaled roughly, a natural response to any thoughts of the late detective that he so admired. It only gave Mello more incentive to bring Kira to justice, besides his natural goal to beat Near and rub the victory into the bastard's toy-loving face. Oh how it irked him.

But he was still straggling along behind, using what and whom he could. Perpetual second place was all he could seemingly attain, despite the fact that he constantly reminded himself of the _imminent_ success.

That was doubtful, but he could always hope.

Mello discarded the empty candy wrapper in a bin on the street, which was quite graffitied and littered with protests and gang symbols, most of which made Mello chuckle darkly. For what purpose, he himself did not know, but it didn't particularly matter. No one was around to hear his ill-humoured expression of mirth. Not even the snow sought to listen, as it made a sound of its own: a soft murmuring that lustfully enticed the eardrums with its tinny laugh, a hissing that was parallel to the fallacy of a snake. Both beautiful and dangerous. How incredibly appropriate.

This sound went on to be the only thing the male listened to for awhile, while stalked along the ivory concrete as if he knew exactly where he was going, and why. In a sense, though, he did know where he was going. Back to the apartment was his first choice, since he had finished his business for today and had no desire to stand out in the snow any longer than he had to.

Somehow, though, he knew there was a problem with going back. He frowned, maimed features twisting into discomfort until another expression indicated that he remembered why going back would be so difficult.

Matt wasn't in today.

Mello cursed again, stopping to kick a drift in his path to release his misplaced anger. Of course he should have known that the redhead was going to be out today, this one day, and yet he forgot. He cursed again for good measure and wished that he kept a key on him. He hated the practice of keeping things like that on his person, even if he had no qualms with carrying a gun. An odd mentality, true, but in a way, it made sense to him.

That was all that mattered.

It dawned on him that the other could be out for hours at a time, and would leave him to sit out on the porch until night fell. He hissed, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath and trudging onward. Oh, well. The least he could do was walk there, and try to force his way in. Knowing Matt and his laziness, at least a window would be open for him to skulk through.

As he mulled the plan over in his mind, something cold, wet, and rather painful attacked the side of his face, thankfully the side that was unblemished. He still snarled toward the street, however, taking in for the first time in several minutes the city life that had gone unnoticed while he was thinking. A car had recently barreled through, skidding hard on a snow bank before sending the vast majority of it flying in Mello's face and speeding off.

"Watch it, you fucking moron!" he called, earning no more than a glance. It wasn't exceptional for such utterings to become the background music for the Los Angeles streets. Quite the contrary, actually.

As soon as the apartment came into view, Mello realized that he was right: no one was home. Call it intuition, but the blonde spared no further glance to the building, choosing instead to turn spitefully and nearly trip over an older-looking man and what appeared to be his son. They continued to frown at him even after they were at least three meters away and already turning a corner.

Pfffft.

That was their problem. If they wanted to live in a city, they'd damn well better be used to the crowding.

In fact, he almost considered yelling that at them, but that would require drawing attention to himself, and attention was not something he frankly needed at the moment. So he kept to himself, only fathoming all of the things he could have said. But that was it, wasn't it? All of the things he could have done and all the things he had done were two very different things entirely. The difference between regret and satisfaction, actually.

Mello shook his head derisively, as though ridding himself of any unwanted thoughts. They remained.

"Mello?"

He looked up wildly, cursing himself inwardly for reacting. If this person only called out his name to gauge a response, he would be pinpointed immediately.

No such luck. Matt approached him hesitantly, face clearing of any doubt when he got near enough to discern his friend.

"Shut the hell up, Matt!" he hissed. "Don't call my name out in public."

Even though this wasn't his true name, he was still being pursued under the name "Mello", and so wanted to keep as low profile as possible.

Unfortunately, he forgot the little detail that Matt was an idiot.

At least the gamer had the decency to look a little ashamed of himself. He didn't reply for a moment, casting a glance down at his snow-covered feet before staring back up at Mello.

"Are you done?" he asked.

By 'done', he was obviously referring to whether or not he was finished with the important business he had been raving about for so long.

"Yes," the elder responded tersely, digging the heel of his boot into the sidewalk. His eyes narrowed dangerously as a flame sprung to life in Matt's gloved fingers, indicating that the other had lighted another of his putrid cigarettes. The only thing that kept Mello from snatching the cylindrical killer from between his lips and stomping it into the sheet of white beneath his feet was the fact that while they weren't in the apartment, the other could really do whatever the hell he wanted. It was when he was risking Mello's health as well as his own that things would go past the point of tolerance.

Meanwhile, he would stick to scowling and looking extremely unhappy with the bad habit. Then again, he did have a little addiction of his own; that one, however, was less lethal.

Matt raised an eyebrow at his displeased expression, reading it thoroughly before letting a thin smile spread across his lips. He knew that the blonde wouldn't chastise his habit out here.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he puffed a few gusts in the other's direction, before exhaling the rest into the wind so that it could mingle with the frosty white. Mello's facade of repugnance was deepened.

"Then does that mean you want me to let you into the room?" he asked indifferently.

"Sometime soon would be nice," he said, clearly exasperated. "Damn bastard. Where have you been?"

"Excuse me if I have a life that revolves around something other than you," the redhead replied smoothly, not batting an eye. Not that you could tell behind his thick goggles.

"Not on my time, you don't," Mello pointed out, tapping one toe rather impatiently.

"That's the thing: it wasn't your time. You were out."

"And what the fuck was I supposed to do when I got back and you were gone?"

"Wait, Mello. It won't kill you."

"It could, for all you know."

Matt sighed dramatically. "I hardly think Kira's waiting outside our door for you."

"And if he was?"

"Then you would be fucked."

"Exactly."

There was a pause, in which there was only the sound of a few longing puffs on the lighted cigarette and the pervasive hum of the falling snow. Matt sighed once again, letting a deadly amount of smoke twist from his throat. Repulsive.

He pushed past Mello unconcernedly, not surprised when the other began to follow, emitting a kind of aura of irritation and budding rage. That was nothing new.

Still, there was nothing more to say, and the silence seemed fitting, at least for a while. At least until they came upon the clearly used door on the second floor, third to the end on the right side. Both of them had memorized this perfectly, even Mello, who had not lived there for but a month at most, and never ventured outside but on important business.

The key slid nimbly through the slot, turning and clicking to allow both males access. The elder hurried in first, going straight to the refrigerator to claim another bar of chocolate, which were cold and firm from days of sitting inside. Not to mention that the heating and cooling systems for their side of the building had broken, condemning the room to a irreversible frost.

Mello couldn't stand it.

And so, he spent most of his free hours complaining about it to the only one who would listen:

Matt.

Loyal, tolerant Matt could listen to the other's rants for hours on end, and would absorb it all faithfully even as he played one of his countless games. He was a wonderful multitasker, which came in handy, because oftentimes Mello would demand that he repeat every aspect of his tirade in perfect order, just to be sure that he wasn't being ignored.

Mello tossed himself on the couch, languidly stretching against the cushions, though they provided little comfort from years of being sat on. Not to mention the stains on it that Matt preferred to leave unnamed. The leather-clad male cracked an eye at the one at the threshold, who appeared to be sweeping around to leave.

"You're leaving?" he asked. If he hadn't sounded so apathetic, the blonde could have been accused of wanting Matt to stay. This was probably the truth, though. It was a safety thing, he was assured, because two heads were better than one; it had nothing to do with Matt in particular.

Of course not.

But the redhead didn't take the hint. He cocked his head and stopped reaching for the doorknob momentarily to determine the other's intentions.

"What do you want?"

Mello thought about it, and then closed his eyes completely.

"Nothing. Get out of here, and bring me back some chocolate. I'm running out."

Obviously it was about the chocolate.

"Sure, Mello. I'll be back in ten."

And then he was gone.

Mello didn't move for a minute, merely listening. It was rather interesting, too, because he could almost still hear Matt's footsteps fusing with the luscious falling of the snow.

It was comforting.

What a lovely change of pace.


	2. Evidence of a Car Crash

II. Evidence of a Car Crash 

Three hours later, Mello surfaced from his endless poring over hacking sites that he had somehow accessed, each having to do with Kira in some way. He hadn't made much headway there, though he had found a reasonably good source that linked to the SPK. Perhaps then he could get Hal's number again. Her old one had been either changed or disconnected.

Or both.

He stretched languorously and stood, trying to place what was so different about the room.

It was different; colder, somehow, even if it was snowing. That wasn't why the atmosphere was so deathly frigid.

Mello trudged toward the kitchen, having polished off his latest chocolate bar. He hadn't gotten far when his foot collided quite uncoordinatedly with something small on the floor, and he tumbled forward, landing with a measured amount of grace on his back. A slew of cuss words escaped his parted lips, and he blinked up to see what had caused his fall, only to gaze at a black, bruised Nintendo 64 controller.

His eyes widened in realization.

Matt was still gone.

Why did that bother him so much? Mello scrambled to his feet and went to the landline phone, since he didn't carry a cell phone and Matt always kept his on his person. He dialed the number (which he had memorized, quite to his own revelation) and waited impatiently for the line on the other end to ring.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

There was a small click.

"You've reached Matt," came the monotone of a reply. "I'm not here right now, so leave a message. I probably won't call you back, though."

At that, the answering machine's message ended, leaving Mello to stand there listening to naught but the dial tone. He snarled, hung up the receiver violently, and stormed into the living room again, pausing before exhaling slowly.

"At least the fucker's honest," he breathed humourlessly. The real question was, though, should he go and find him? The bastard was probably out getting stoned, or something equally stupid. A lot of scenarios blossomed in Mello's mind, each as grating as the next. Maybe that was just his stereotype for Matt, growing from his intolerance of the other's smoking habit.

Well, fine.

If he was going to go out and be an idiot, he was going to get a rude awakening. Mello wrenched on his hood vehemently again in preparation to go outside, and had stomped only far enough to notice that the redhead's keys were on the counter, neglected.

That was new.

He jammed the keys into his pocket and continued out the door and into the chill beyond, locking up behind him with a sense of grudging satisfaction.

The streets seemed to be a lot more uproarious than usual. Cars and taxis of all shapes and sizes were lined up bumper to bumper, occasionally inching forward to move at least a little bit. It was obvious that most of them weren't used to such abrupt stops. Mello followed the flow of traffic on the sidewalk, noticing also that the look of the crowds matched that of the cars: jam-packed and restless.

But for what reason?

The naturally curious blonde shoved his way through the masses, earning a few dirty looks as he did so. The dizzying hum of sirens washed over every other sound, silencing the car horns and chattering people authoritatively.

So that was it. Some kind of disaster had caused the back up, and the citizens of Los Angeles behaved as though they had never seen anything like it.

Having discovered the source of the commotion, Mello considered turning back.

But curiosity got the better of his simmering anger, and he forced himself through the mobs again to reach the head of the turmoil.

Carnage didn't frighten Mello. He was just too used to it. It was almost a casual thing now, even as he looked upon the mangled wreck before him. A taxi, it seemed, had been obliterated by another of its kind. Metal had connected with metal, and sparks still littered the half-melted snow that paved the road to serve as evidence for what had happened. Dark crimson stains amongst the searing white, too, left telltale signs of casualties, along with the covered figures that were already being hoisted into ambulances. Glass had shattered in several of the windows, spread only by the wind and the impact. It glittered under the illusory stare of the pallid sun.

This wreck was indeed a sight to see.

Mello averted his eyes to the surrounding scene, where appalled bystanders and ambulance workers were bustling about. The police had shown up as well to keep the peace.

What caught his eye, however, was something smouldering in the snow not far away. A thin trail of smoke unfurled from an object that was all too familiar to the scathing blonde: a cigarette. It had been stained by what looked like blood, and bent savagely, but all in all still a cigarette, even after Mello strode up, bent over, and picked it up.

He wrinkled his nose at the scent. A person in one of the taxis must have been smoking….that made it all the more bearable that another putrid smoker was off the street. The leather-clad male could never tolerate them. He had only been able to put up with Matt for some inane reason.

Suddenly, something welled up in Mello's stomach.

But the chances were…infinitesimal. There were hundreds of smokers in Los Angeles; what were the chances that Matt had been the one in the taxi?

And yet, he found himself propelled forward by his own feet, meanwhile tugging his hood over his face. The appearance of bothersome reporters coaxed a scowl from his thinned lips. There was no way he could get close to the scene while there were cameras examining every angle of it. Mello retreated, melding with the surrounding the crowd before breaking away and pacing back to the apartment.

Dammit.

The discordant sound of leather boot against frigid sidewalk clashed unnaturally against the flowing steps that the crowd made as he traveled against them, only breaking stride when he ducked out of the safety of the horde and tucked his hand into his pocket to retrieve a ready key.

Something slowed his pace, however. His scowling eyes darted to an oh-so-familiar blemish in the paved walkway that led to the apartment complex. It was a crimson smear, no bigger than a teardrop, yet it was so foreboding.

Or maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him.

Mello ventured on, each step leaden. But it didn't show. He had a habit of concealing the strangest emotions, even when he let anger and grief rule him. People had selective feelings, after all. They chose when they wanted to be numb, and when they wanted to let loose.

The journey up the staircase was even harder to struggle through. He reached the landing without breaking a sweat, though, probably because he couldn't. The snow, if anything, had become even colder. His head swerved slightly to the right, the preparation to pass down the hall.

But he didn't get far enough as to take his first step.

Sprawled against the wall, looking like he had been through hell and back, was Matt.

Mello snarled, and instead of doing what was expected, he snatched a handgun from where it was obscured at his leather-clad hip. He pressed the barrel against the other's bloodstained forehead, which clashed horribly with the dark shade of red that flecked his hair.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he demanded, cocking the gun with a sharp click.

"Oh, Mello," said Matt, voice strangely even. "You locked the door…you have the keys?"

The blonde jingled them in front of the younger's face malevolently, still putting a fair amount of pressure on his temple with the point of the weapon. Matt winced slightly.

"Good," he continued, as though he wasn't talking to Mello at all. "I've been waiting out here…for awhile. Can you help me in?"

There was a pause. Mello considered blowing the other's brains all over the place right here, just to prove some kind of twisted point. But he merely sighed and withdrew his gun, knowing that it would probably do no good to kill his only help just to prove something he wouldn't be around to appreciate.

And so he hooked his arms roughly under the crouching figure's arms, heaving him to his feet and walking him to the door, where he struggled to both unlock the door and keep the body pressed against him aloft. The strain seemed a little too much for Matt, though, and with a tiny exhale, his eyes slipped shut behind blood-spattered goggles. It was difficult to see, but he was slanted so closely into Mello that he could see very clearly through the tinted glass.

It was quite a feat to turn the doorknob and push it open, but it was accomplished within five minutes at least. The blonde stumbled inside, malevolently depositing the redhead on the couch. He gave a muffled "unnhh…" but it was a sign that he was alive, and that was sufficient enough.

"You took that mother fucking taxi, didn't you?" he murmured to the unconscious figure slumped against the sofa. "What's so wrong with walking, you moron? Too good for you?"

There had appeared to be no survivors at the scene; Matt must have made it out only barely. He didn't deserve it. Maybe if he had been killed on impact, like everyone else had, things would have been a lot easier and less distracting. But the more he thought about this, the more he figured that that wasn't really what he wanted. He just needed something to mutter under his breath as he unfastened the goggles around the other's head and threw them on the ground before examining the damage slowly.

He appeared to have been torn apart quite a bit by the glass from the windshield of the taxi, and a string of bruises lined his collarbone and wrapped along his chest and down to the opposite hipbone, looking very much like an oddly placed imprint.

At least the moron had been wearing a seatbelt.

This was very unlike him, but Mello wasn't complaining. It looked like it had saved his life, despite the mass of contusions and gashes that covered nearly every inch of exposed skin. Some of them appeared to be the makings of scars, but nothing on the surface appeared lethal.

"God dammit," he said swiftly. Mello moved into the bathroom to rummage around for a first aid kit, bringing it back into the living room not long after to look through its contents. He pulled out a good size bottle of disinfectant and used a box of gauze to treat each flesh wound he came across, surprised at first when the contact made Matt shiver involuntarily.

The blonde scowled. "That's what you get," he said tonelessly, continuing his task after a brief pause. To be truthful, the redhead was virtually faultless, a mere victim of circumstance.

However, Mello wasn't happy unless he had someone to blame for everything that went awry. Near, Matt, L, Kira, Roger, and a few from Wammy's had already received the bulk of this blame for such frivolous things.

But never was it Mello's fault.

He was guiltless.

It took a good majority of the kit and the whole roll of bandages inside, but soon Matt had been healed to his fullest extent. Satisfied for the moment, Mello stepped away from the injured figure and to the kitchen, sickened somehow by the mere sight of him. It wasn't the dark bloodstains or the green bruises that seeped like paint over his skin, but the whole situation that made the elder's stomach turn.

Bastard.

Who did Matt think he was, making him worry, even in the slightest?

"Mello?"

That questioning voice spoke his name again, tone level and apparently unconcerned. The blonde whipped around bitterly, eyes penetrating as if to say: _What the fuck do you want?_

"Thanks," the gamer uttered coolly.

Mello exhaled with a certain amount of difficulty, trying to restrain his urge to pull out his gun again and empty a few rounds into Matt's thick skull. Thankfully, he managed to bury that desire before muttering something incoherent and marching into the kitchen to retrieve a chocolate bar.

He'd probably stay there awhile, but would eventually return to check on the other. After all, broken bones and any sort of internal bleeding had to be taken into account, though he didn't imagine the damage was too bad if he had managed to crawl all the way up to the second floor and hold even the semblance of a conversation with Mello. It was impressive.

But hell if he would admit that to Matt. The last thing he wanted to do was compliment the idiot.


	3. Clever Medicines

III. Clever Medicines 

Hours past with relative silence, and in that time, Matt slipped in and out of consciousness. Mello, meanwhile, spent his time pacing the kitchen, merely thinking and finishing off his chocolate. Soon, though, he became restless, and was all too relieved when he heard that voice call out his name for a third time that day.

"Mello?"

The blonde paused in his back and forth strides, cocking a brow and returning to the living room to glare disdainfully at the other.

"What?" he demanded, failing to make his voice sound fierce. It became toneless instead.

Matt shifted, propping himself up on his elbows, only to wince and roll back over. He eventually attempted to sit back up again, this time succeeding.

"I'm sorry."

He always thought it was his fault for bad things that happened, even when they were obviously beyond his control. Still, disappointing Mello was like an ungodly sin, punishable only to the fullest extent. Mello merely grunted.

"You should be," he growled, stepping over to examine him for internal injuries. He pressed ferociously in places where bones were likely to be broken, and only received a strangled cry when he stabbed at the younger male's collarbone.

"It's broken," he announced disinterestedly. Matt just nodded, only to grimace again and try to keep himself up without inciting too much pain from his newly discovered injury. This was a failure of a plan, though, as he just received a deep throbbing for his efforts.

It was funny; earlier he couldn't feel a thing, not even when Mello was struggling to get him into the apartment room. Now he was searing. Good thing he didn't have time to dwell on this pain.

The blonde had drawn out his gun again and was pointing it ferociously at the other. He looked like he was about to say something, but the gamer decided to beat him to the punch.

"A little trigger happy today, are we?" he said through gritted teeth, giving up his attempt to stay upright and falling sideways into the less-than-comfortable couch.

"Shut up," he snarled. "Just be thankful I haven't actually pulled the trigger yet, moron." He paused, regarding Matt with the most venomous expression. Though, if you looked hard enough, you may have construed it to look like an infuriated mother's meeting her child after he had just done the unforgivable. This was slightly amusing, but if the redhead had tried to laugh, he would have not only been chastised by his angry wounds, but also by Mello's livid gunpoint.

"Why did you get in that taxi?"

Matt's expression went blank for a moment, and then something of a dawning look crossed his face. After all of this, he finally blanched as he began to recount the reasoning slowly. There was no reason to not tell; that would only result in a few bullets embedded in his skull.

Then again, maybe that would be welcome.

"I didn't want to walk," he said, stating this all simply.

Mello stared.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he demanded. He then cast the other a warning look, one that said: "Don't answer that question." He went on. "What was so far away that you needed to take a taxi? And why didn't you use your car?"

There was a mutual silence, and the redhead frowned. "You keep an awful lot of secrets, Mello," he said unyieldingly. "Aren't I entitled to mine?"

"No," said the other flatly, his gun hand twitching slightly before he tucked it away. "Because you almost got yourself killed because of it."

"And you care?"

Mello glowered, then stalked out of the room muttering something unintelligible. He retreated into the bedroom, throwing off his hooded jacket and sitting on the end of the bed for a moment, staring through the gap in his gloved fingers down at the carpet below. Not necessarily an attractive sight, but it was something to occupy his gaze while he could not do so with his thoughts.

Another hour passed, and the blonde figured he had sulked for long enough. Besides, it wasn't exactly best to leave the other alone with his injuries, in case he suddenly started to bleed or something equally horrific.

Striding back into the room, however, Mello found that he had drifted off again, lying stiffly against the couch with his brow furrowed and a small frown touching his lips. He looked so uncomfortable that it coaxed a sadistic grin on the blonde's face as he neared.

A small hint of bruising was visible on Matt's left shoulder, where it stretched across his chest, unseen under the striped shirt, and down. For a moment, there was nothing new about this. It was just the seatbelt bruise.

But then, something dawned on Mello.

Perhaps it was just the paranoia he was famous for catching up to him, but as the images of the car crash ran through his head, the blonde realized that the redhead could not have been in the taxi when that wreck occurred. Both cars' left side passengers' seat were damaged so badly that no one there at that time could have survived, or have had the strength to climb all the way up to the second floor of the apartment without passing out midway or dying. It was impossible.

And yet, the wounds that Matt had sustained showed evidence that he had been sitting on the left side of a vehicle. He must have been some sort of crash…the injuries all supported that theory.

He was missing something, and the only way he could find out what would be to question Matt. But, Mello conceded mentally, the he probably wouldn't be so willing to part with that sort of information. What was it that he had said?

"_You keep an awful lot of secrets, Mello. Aren't I entitled to mine?"_

Dammit.

What was it that Matt was keeping from him? It must have been something important; otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered. He wasn't the kind to keep secrets, especially not from Mello. In a half-rage, the blonde stomped away from the unconscious figure on the couch and around the living room, thinking fiercely as he did so and kicking a few wayward game consoles that had the misfortune to lie in his way.

Eventually, he stopped, exhaling loudly and glaring at Matt with penetrating eyes. Should he wake him? No, not yet…questioning was better left for when the other was fully prepared for it, only because Mello wanted to know anything and everything, and all that was between. He had to.

The younger one stirred in his awkward positioning on the couch, provoking a scowl from the elder, who quit his soundless pacing to start for the door. Maybe there was something there…a clue…

Fuck it.

This wasn't an episode of Scooby Doo.

And yet, he still found himself scouting around the outside, seeing only the smears in the snow where Matt's feet had become clumsy in their hike up the snow-laden steps.

It wasn't until he whipped around when he found anything abnormal. A small grocery back was left, neglected, against the wall, and Mello was surprised that he hadn't seen it before. He went over to inspect it, using his fingertips to part the plastic handles and peer inside.

Lying frigid at the bottom of the bag was an assortment of chocolate bars.

"Little bastard…" muttered the male, picking up the bag and carrying it with him inside to shelter it away from the cold. It was pitiful how he mothered those chocolate bars, setting them almost lovingly onto the counter in the kitchen before taking one out, peeling it skillfully, and taking his place on an armchair near the sleeping Matt.

Now was the time to wait.


	4. The Unmentionable

IIII. The Unmentionable 

Sitting in one place for too long made Mello uneasy. He shifted, finding comfort in his chocolate only long enough to wait out the rest of Matt's sleep, which lasted for a rather long time. Again and again the blonde considered waking him up (not gently, either), but expelled the thought and dwelled only on getting answers to assuage his restive mind. And yet, long intervals of nothingness made him feel like he could be doing something more important, something worth his time.

So, with a minimal amount of movement, Mello reached for one of the many laptops he had been working on before and dragged it onto his lap to begin something that would at least make him feel like he was doing something useful.

It contented him for the rest of the time until, finally, the redhead on the couch stirred and yawned, as though waking from the most peaceful sleep. He didn't appear disconcerted in the slightest that he was keeping something—something potentially important—from the older one.

Matt caught sight of this expression, and though it was nothing new for Mello to be unhappy, he figured that it must have had something to do with him. The male winced, not only from a pang that sung indignantly from his collarbone, but by the thought that he was still doing something to piss the other off.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"I think you know what," Mello replied, his tone rather nonchalant. That meant nothing good, not when he was deviating from his usual methods of expressing anger: being loud and livid. Now, though, you wouldn't even know he was angry, not if you didn't know him.

This boded ill for not only Matt, but his apartment also if the blonde decided to take out his gun for a third time, and with that look on his face, it was likely that he would use it.

"How about we pretend that I don't?" offered Matt, putting a diminishing grin out there as well.

"You weren't in that taxi crash," he stated.

"What're you talking about?"

Mello shifted, shoving the laptop off of his lap impatiently. The redhead made a face at the loud thump the technology made when it hit the carpeted floor.

"It is physically impossible for you to have been in one of those taxis," he said firmly. "Your bruises…they don't match the scene. Now tell me what really happened, moron, before I blast your head off."

Matt didn't answer at first. He stared, thin-lipped, as though trying to fathom a maneuverable way out of this question.

There was none.

If Mello had found physical evidence that he hadn't been in the car crash, then there was no way he could convince him otherwise; he was caught.

"No wonder you were so close to succeeding L," he said meekly. "You're damn observant."

The blonde snarled. "Just tell me what you were doing."

Back in Wammy's, when there was no place to go but up, and the only tangible place you could reside in was your own room or the many hallways that made up the house, you couldn't keep very many secrets that someone else wouldn't figure out. The secrets you could keep, however, you always wanted to confide with someone, because keeping secrets only made you feel lonelier.

The secrets Matt had, he always told to Mello. Mostly because he was the only one who would listen, whether the feedback was positive or not. Somehow, though, this wasn't the same. It had just been so long; telling secrets to Mello now was like giving up something precious that you had been holding onto forever.

But hell did it feel good to let it go.

"You know, calls to Japan are expensive," he said, starting the conversation off indifferently, gazing not at the opposite wall, but through it. "It was a good thing that I wasn't paying for them." Damn, he needed a cigarette. "She contacted me first, on my cell phone. The first thing she said was…hello, Mail."

Mello stared. "Who are you talking about?"

"Takada," Matt said dryly. "She knew my name. I don't know how she did it, but she knew everything about me. That's bad, Mello. Kira could kill me now without any second thought."

The blonde looked as if he was about to say something, but the redhead proceeded to cut him off.

"She wanted to know everything about N—Near—and Wammy's House. Apparently Kira wasn't aware of me yet, but if I didn't cooperate…that could change." He let out a humourless snicker. "She's pretty badass for such a sheltered woman."

"And why did you keep this from me?" demanded Mello, finally finding his place to push in.

"Because we met in person," sighed the other. "Two days after the first contact. She flew over here on account of a private 'business meeting', and interrogated me about Wammy's. I told her bullshit, of course, and I thought she was going to leave me alone after I gave her what she wanted. It turns out, that bitch is insatiable.

"She kept calling. Each time she called with a different number, a different alias. Somehow, each new conversation with her branched farther and farther away from the topic of Near and Wammy's. We started talking about Kira, television, everything. One time we even had a heated discussion about clothes. It was wild. Finally…she wanted to meet me again. And so we met, but this time she didn't talk to me about Wammy's. She didn't say anything at all. She just started…well, crying. Crying about Kira. Crying about how she was both scared of him and scared for him, but she wouldn't tell me who he was. She pretty much cut herself off from me completely except for when she called me herself; apparently, she knew I was looking for him."

Matt shifted, eliciting a loud cry of pain when collarbone was disturbed. That seemed to be less unsettling than Mello's expression at that moment, however, which was a mix between rage, interest, and alarm.

He went on. "And then from there…" A sigh. "She hugged me. For a long time, we just stood there. I don't know how to comfort girls, Mello; I used to be fucking terrified of them when I was in Wammy's. She just kept crying and telling me about how she was about to lose it, because she loved Kira and she didn't want to see him die, and how he was asking her to do things that she just couldn't do. She was scared, that's all I knew. So I…I kissed her."

If there ever was an icy silence, this would be it. Mello watched him incredulously, while Matt merely sat, feeling bereft because of his cigarette lack and ashamed, because hearing his exploits were a lot more different than actually doing them, since he could euthanise them any way he wanted to in his mind, making him sleep easier at night with the burden of hiding something from Mello.

"I know it was a stupid idea," he said, trying to shake his head. It didn't work so well, so returned to his stationary position scrunched against the back of the couch. "But I didn't know what to do. And then I remembered you. I'm a stupid fuck, I know. I couldn't help it. She's a hot girl, and she was crying. What would you have done?"

Not the smartest question.

"You know bloody well what I would have done!" exploded Mello, leaping to his feet. His hand twitched over his hip, but he was past the point of drawing a gun. He just stood, almost too angry to see the dry bloodstained mass in front of him, who appeared all but apathetic behind his goggles. That wasn't the case.

"All right, all right," sighed Matt. "But when she asked me to meet her again…I was really anxious. I got in my car in a hurry today, turned the ignition, and…the next thing I know, I was half-conscious and bent around a lamppost. And then I came back."

"You douche. Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

The younger one exhaled lethargically, pretending like he was expelling not only carbon dioxide, but nicotine as well. And it was wonderful for a split second, because for that split second, he thought he could taste the toxic flavour of smoke. Almost.

"Because, Mello," he said, his tone ringing with a vexation that sounded as though he had been telling this same story over and over. Which, in essence, he was; he had been repeating the same thing to himself over and over, and still he wasn't convinced that it was happening to him. To Mello, maybe, because everything seemed to happen with Mello. He was exactly the sort of anomaly that Matt had spent his life trying to avoid, ever since the elder one had left Wammy's all those years ago.

But he always came back, didn't he?

He couldn't stay away.

"Because I think I love her."

Mello shook his head profusely, now pacing the soiled carpet dedicatedly, clenching his hands into fists and releasing them with a practised intensity.

"No, you don't," he contradicted smoothly, stopping on the spot to whirl around yet again and stare like he had been, casting an aura of obvious discontent. "You don't love her. You may think you do, but she's trying to get to you. What exactly have you been telling her about Near? About me? You're a moron, Matt. Do you think for an instant that she'll reciprocate those feelings? If Kira asked her to kill you, she'd do it in a heartbeat."

"I don't doubt that," he replied tersely. "I _know _that she doesn't feel the same way, because she loves Kira. But when I kissed her, she kissed me back. And she was the one that contacted me all those times. She was the one that arranged to see me. Maybe..."

"Maybe what? She'll fall in love with you and you'll live happily ever after? Wake up, idiot! She's using you, just the way Near is using me. Except she's toying with your gullibility, and using sexuality as a weapon. I thought you were smarter than that."

Matt had nothing witty to retort with.

"Then why don't you just leave, Mello? Get out of my apartment…I'll get my ass killed and you can catch Kira. You don't care about me, after all. You just want to win. That's all you've ever wanted."

"Since when did this start being about me?"

"Since the day you moved in."

"Fine!" Mello threw up his hands and stormed away, his voice disintegrating with the distance. "I'll leave. Go flirt with Takada. When your selfish, worthless ass is dead, then you'll finally be doing the world a favour."

He disappeared into the bedroom, emerging minutes later to find a seething Matt still where he was left on the couch. They glowered at each other for a while, perhaps sizing each other up in preparation to throw a few more insults around. Mello had even drawn a breath, ready to let something else fly.

He never got the chance.

The phone rang, breaking the silence without so much as an ounce of discretion. It was Matt's ring tone, and since he was too lazy to change the factory settings, the ring was reminiscent of a loud, obnoxious alarm, which clashed horribly with the metronome that the vibrate made.

Mechanically, the redhead picked up the phone. The hum of voices on the other line stopped the steady slow of breath escaping Matt's throat, and he froze, pursing his lips irrevocably.

It took a moment before he managed the words that were already forming on his silent mouth:

"Hello, Kiyomi."


	5. Abandonment

**V. Abandonment**

The phone call was hushed and immediate, Matt sparing no time to allow his companion to hear the conversation. Despite his efforts, however, Mello still caught snatches of it: he could hear a few whispered remarks about the accident, but never once was the blonde mentioned; that was as it should be.

Only minutes later the phone was snapped shut, and Matt looked up, only to be subjected to an all-too dirty look from the blonde.

"So what did she want?" he demanded, a sickeningly sardonic note in his otherwise dead serious tone.

"She asked me where I was," the other replied airily, trying not to show that he was daunted by Mello's wrath. Somehow, though, he felt as though Mello could sense it. Ever since Wammy's, he had a funny feeling that the elder one could smell fear, in a way that dogs did. Now, of course, he found this whole idea ridiculous, but he never rid himself of that sinking suspicion…

"And what did you tell her?"

"I told her that I was so rushed getting out the door that I got in a wreck. True enough, and I'm not giving you away."

Mello just grunted and shuffled away, contenting his enraged mind by rooting out a chocolate bar from the refrigerator. He peeled the thing and balanced it between his front teeth, before retreating into the living room again, but this time he couldn't look at Matt.

Realizing that the other one wasn't going to strike up more conversation, the redhead took the initiative.

"So what are you going to do now?"

"I should leave your ass," he said bitterly. "Do you know how much this is going to fuck up my plans? Honestly, Matt…could you have done anything stupider than fall for that broad?"

"You're an emotionless dick. You don't even give a shit how I feel, do you?"

"This isn't about your feelings! This is about catching Kira. Obviously you don't care about that."

"Obviously you care too much."

"Shut the hell up. This isn't about me; this is about you and that Takada bitch. Quit trying to turn the situation around on me. It doesn't work."

Matt stood, so abruptly that he even surprised himself. It seemed as though his muscles were moving of their own accord. They continued to do so, propelling his feet forward on the sullied carpet, his hands scooping up every video game cartridge he could muster, along with a few abandoned articles of clothing that may have been lying around. He stormed about in a way that modeled a spoiled child, adding to that illusion with a few huffs and incoherent complaints. He wasn't known for getting angry easily; hell, Matt was as impassive as they came, but for once things weren't just about Mello and his wild life. It was about him, and something that was important to him. Yet the other still didn't understand. He just went on about how it would negatively influence his _own _life.

And here he was calling Matt selfish.

"Where are you going?" stipulated Mello when Matt had finally finished his feverish packing and wheeled toward the door.

Without so much as a glance behind him, the gamer twisted the knob viciously. "I'm going to see Takada," he mouthed, leveling his voice to keep it from cracking. "And I'm not coming back."

"Goddammit, you're being immature."

"Then just be glad I'm not your problem anymore. Good fucking riddance."

He didn't look back before he stepped out into the whispering world of sleet beyond, in fear that simply casting a glimpse in the other's direction would stop him from leaving. It had in the past, but he wouldn't let it happen this time. He had every intention of following through with his promise of leaving Mello for good, and showing him that he could love Takada and she could love him back, and everything would be alright for him just this once, and not for Mello, who kept him occupied with his need for attention, praise, and success.

Once the door slammed behind him, it didn't open again. Mello fidgeted, his subconscious slowly ticking away the seconds of solitude.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…

Five minutes passed, but Matt hadn't returned. The blonde's expression hardened and he stood, glaring at the door as though he could see the other standing on the other side, but of course he wasn't there.

Finally, he gave up and stomped back toward the bedroom, muttering to himself all the while.

"Yeah," he hissed, mimicking the slamming of the door with the door of the bedroom, making the drywall that clung to the doorframe quiver in fear.

"_Good fucking riddance." _

Ever since Mello had moved in, he had received a distinct feeling from the apartment. The way it smelled, the way it looked, the way the very atmosphere reverberated around him reminded him of Matt, and it had grown to be nothing more than a norm; something familiar to come back to every day when he was pissed and exhausted.

But now that the air of Matt was missing its key ingredient, Matt himself, it didn't feel quite right, like the feeling you get when you're walking around your house, but all the furniture has been rearranged and the walls have been painted. It was still the apartment he had come to accept as a place to live, but it wasn't the same place he had sought shelter from; it wasn't quite right anymore.

He had long since the redhead's departure convinced himself that it was true; the other was a pawn, an acquaintance he knew long ago to be disposed of at will. Mello was rather good at deluding himself; otherwise, he never would have been able to follow through with the dream of beating Near.

Work went on as per usual, because the blonde was anything but a slacker. In fact, not working made him feel inadequate, so even when he found himself at a lack of things to do, he still was able to keep occupied by monitoring things that seemed to never change.

The only thing that _had_ changed about the normalcy in Mello's world in the passing days (besides, of course, Matt's leaving) was that the snow hadn't abated, as the hazy channel two weatherman had predicted. It had only gotten thicker, if anything, which caused quite a stir. After all, snow was a scarce thing in California, let alone a blizzard's worth of it.

Mello, despising snow almost as much as he despised Kira, attempted to do whatever possible to stay indoors. He used the money Matt had left behind to order pizza (which he had sent to apartment rooms a few doors down from his own to avoid detection), and had cleaned out the refrigerator completely within a few days.

But when the chocolate was gone, things became serious.

The sweet most definitely was Mello's greatest weakness, but he had never been known to suffer withdrawal, perhaps because he had never been parted with his beloved addiction for more than a day.

But when a full week past of nothing but leftovers and an inherent lack of chocolate, the male decided that he would have to brave the cold eventually, or risk a fate worse than death.

Melodrama aside, things only grew worse when he tried to wait out the weather for awhile. He became colder than usual, and even developed a high fever before pulling on his jacket and crunching bulky leather boots into the accumulating frost to go grocery shopping.

His temperature stubbornly remained at exactly one hundred, but he didn't seem to feel its side effects while his mind was wandering intermittently. It was a wonder he made it to the store at all without collapsing head first onto the sidewalk.

Perhaps that was due to Mello's iron will.

Or something like that.

He fished through his pockets for the diminishing wad of bills he had found in Matt's sock drawer, and used a good portion of it to fill a paper bag full to the brim with chocolate and a few TV dinners. The dinners probably wouldn't be touched until the chocolate was next to gone, but he needed some sustenance. Even Mello knew that chocolate couldn't account for every food group, though he ate it as if it did.

The trek back to the apartment only grew colder, and at last he found himself hunched over the stoop, resolving to head up the stairs when he didn't feel frozen solid.

He was dizzy, that was for sure, and his numb fingers couldn't feel the newest candy bar he had unwrapped and was feeding his insatiable mouth. The wind didn't help, either; it had picked up since his long walk down and back, and was now pounding on the side of his head, sounding very much like the pounding of his heart that had filled his ears.

Soon he knew he'd have to get up into the warmth, because his warm-natured body couldn't take the extremities for long. Groping up the metallic staircase that led up to the second floor, Mello heaved himself onto the corridor, blinking to keep himself awake.

Dear, lord…when had he become so goddamn tired?

That seemed to matter little, though when he took out the key and found himself unable to see the slot in which it fit very clearly, he knew something must be wrong. The key eventually slipped out of his grasp, and he was in no fit state to lean over and get them, let alone see with his frost-blinded eyes.

Goggles would be useful at a time like this.

Where was Matt, anyway?

_He's gone, you stupid asshole._

Oh, yeah.

A dreary, fever-induced grin floated over his face. "That's okay," he told himself wearily. "I don't need him."

That was when he caught sight of a pair of jean-clad legs, attached to two booted feet and what appeared to be the very fuzzy outline of a body. Mello blinked a few times, but a kind of warmth was pressing in on his head from all sides, and a bitter cold had claimed the rest of him, making the recognition of this body rather difficult.

"D'you really mean that, Mel'?" spoke a soft, familiar voice.

Somehow, though, his subconscious had identified that voice before he himself was able.

"Fuck off, Matt," he said, vaguely aware of the fact that he was sitting on his ass, completely sodden with snow and ice.

How did that happen?

"You look awful," he replied coolly. "Let me just…"

Unfortunately, the rest of that sentence was drowned out by a fierce roaring in the elder one's ears. His eyes no longer digested the sight of an indistinct shape surrounded by snow, but only the inside of his lids, where things seemed to be a lot more peaceful.

And god was he tired; it was good thing he slipped into the realm of the unconscious soon after.

He'd have to ask Matt to get off his lazy ass and get the groceries next time.


	6. The Act of Commiseration

**VI. The Act of Commiseration**

"_You keep an awful lot of secrets, Mello; aren't I entitled to mine?"_

_Matt stood over him, holding a Death Note and locking arms with Takada Kiyomi. A sickening expression of hatred lingered on his face. He reached up, pulling off his goggles to reveal scarlet eyes, blending with the glow of equally red hair. Old wounds provoked by old car crashes suddenly surfaced on his flawless skin, until it was bleeding profusely…Takada disappeared, but the Death Note remained, until the crimson tears that had obscured the other's hate-filled eyes became all that he could see. Matt began to write something on the black notebook, something unseen, awaiting the time when he turned the lined pages to face Mello and show him what was written there._

_Mihael Keehl._

"_Your real name," the redhead sneered._

_Mello didn't know what a heart attack felt like, but this sure did feel something like it; he felt as though a heavy weight was bearing down on his chest, forcing him to his knees despondently. He gasped for air, eyes and ears unable to register the morbid scene of his own death: Matt had morphed into a mirror, showing him exactly what he feared. He was being ripped in two, the feeling so unbearable that all he could hear was his own heavy breathing until he finally went numb._

_The floor rushed up to meet him._

Sticky with sweat and breathing as though he had been running for miles, Mello shot up into a sitting position, golden hair clinging to his face. He cast a frightened look around, unsure where he was, or what led him to be here. He found himself sitting in Matt's bed, the one that he had been sleeping in for a few days since the other had left.

Memories rushed back to him as he slid off the edge of the bed. Turning, he found that he had been undressed and put in an overly baggy shirt and jeans, and that Matt had been sleeping next to him, curled up with a blatantly troubled expression on his face. Mello sighed exasperatedly and left the room, seeking the one thing he could find sympathy in: his chocolate. He found it, abandon, on the kitchen counter, where the other had undoubtedly left it.

Picking out a bar and unwrapping it, the male explored the apartment as though it was something totally new. Souvenirs of the past few days littered the rooms like forgotten tokens; diminutive blood stains still decorated the couch while chocolate wrappers and technology were forgotten on the filthy carpet, from Mello's short spell on his own.

There was a slight ruffling from another room, and the blonde turned only enough to find Matt shuffling in, rubbing his eyes fiercely like a child who had just been stirred from its restless slumber.

"Mel'…" he murmured, squinting at him. "What're you doing up? You should be sleeping…you've still got a small fever."

"I thought you weren't coming back," retorted the other, inspired by a sudden rage. It was just like him to initiate such a conversation at all hours of the morning.

"Are you telling me I shouldn't have?"

"You should keep your promises."

"I promised myself I wouldn't let you die, too. Unlike you, Mello, I have my priorities in order."

"And what about Takada? Where is she on your priorities list? I thought you loved her."

"I do, I just figured you needed me more. Besides, she was going back to Japan."

"Oh, I see. You come back to whoever's more convenient."

"No."

And he left it at that, not bothering to explain or further his contradiction. He merely stalked into the kitchen and flicked on a few lights, pulling out a jug of orange juice and pouring out two glasses. Mello wrinkled his nose.

Unfortunately, Matt noticed.

"You're going to drink some," he said plainly, returning to the kitchen to thrust the juice into the elder's hands. "It looks like the only thing you didn't touch. No wonder you got a fever."

The thing was, Mello hated orange juice. It was the only thing he would never drink, not even if he was inches from death by dehydration. Not even if his very being was threatened.

And yet, he managed a few swigs at the gamer's command before snarling and throwing the rest of the glass into the sink. To hell if it was going to cure his fever, or anything else for that matter.

"So you're back," hissed Mello, turning to plant himself on the couch, which was none too comfortable after he had been subjected to the bed for so long.

Matt nodded, cracking a grin, despite all they'd been through. "Glad to see me?"

"You wish," snorted the blonde, languidly spreading himself over the back of the loveseat. "I just need someone to pay the rent."

"And that's all you want me for?"

"What else is there?"

The redhead frowned, downed the rest of his orange juice, and stepped back into the living room, scrutinizing Mello so closely that he, for a moment, thought he could see something. He didn't know what, because it was such a foreign thing. Yet it was gone in a flash, and therefore ignored.

"I dunno," he said off-handedly. "I maybe thought that we were friends. For a minute there, we were."

"When was that?" demanded the other, flicking a cynical gaze toward his companion.

"Again, I don't know," Matt replied forcefully. "That's why I think…I think I'm going back to Takada."

"What the fuck? I told you she doesn't and will never love you! She's infatuated with Kira. She'll never see you as anything more than a tool."

"No. You're just trying to talk me out of it because you think it'll harm you. I won't tell her anything about Wammy's, so chill the hell out. If you don't care about what happens to me, there's no point in trying to convince me otherwise. Even if she doesn't love me, I can…stay there with her."

"You're an idiot," sighed Mello. "You'll just be her lapdog until you die? What will that accomplish?"

Suddenly, Matt had the other by the shoulders, angrily shoving him back up against the couch. Pain fluttered across his features, turning him a sickly shade of green, but he didn't ease up.

There was a point to be made here.

"You tell me, Mel'," he hissed. "I've been doing the same fucking thing for you for at least ten years. I've always been here, waiting, and putting up with your bullshit. And then when you got tired of me and left, I still waited. I didn't give a flying fuck whether you liked me or not."

He let go, shrinking back and massaging his collarbone. His breathing had already quickened.

"And if I can do that for someone as heartless and stupidass as you, I could do it for anybody. Especially Takada. Now let me just do something for me, just this once."

He retreated into the kitchen, resolving to pour another glass of orange juice, but searched around for something a little stronger out of the crisper to put into it. Dammit. Mello had taken all the alcohol.

But he still had one more thing to say. He had to make himself perfectly clear, because even though he was perfectly willing to risk life and limb to go off with Takada, he still had a certain duty to his friend, or who he thought was his friend.

If he let him, that was.

"I'm leaving again, tomorrow morning. But this time, I'm not coming back."

Mello simply glared. "Just like that?"

"Yeah," said Matt, suddenly feeling the intensity of his words. "Just like that."

There was a stony silence.

"I'm going to Japan. I got two round tickets."

"I thought that bitch already went to Japan."

"For you, dumbass. You said you had some business there…and you needed my help."

Oh, yes, he had almost forgotten the monumental reason why he hated Matt's choice in women: he had already planned an elaborate kidnapping of Takada before. He had failed to fill the other in because his way of working was generally go wherever Mello wanted him to, do whatever Mello wanted him to, and then smoke a cigarette or play a video game afterward. It would be a touchy thing to bring up when it came right down to it, but if the redhead insisted…

"You bastard," he said, shaking his head and standing. "Thanks."

He didn't usually thank anyone. It just wasn't in his nature to need anyone but himself in the first place, so easing out this word was difficult. But really, in light of everything, he figured that he deserved it. He had let him stay, been obedient, come back after enduring Mello's assholic attitude, and after all that, bought plane tickets for him instead of going with the one he loved. You had to give him props.

"You're welcome," Matt replied. "Now go to sleep. The plane leaves tomorrow, and you're not going to be a tired douche the entire way there."

And for once, Mello did what he was told, without so much as a rancorous comment.


	7. All's Fair in Love and War

**VII. All's Fair in Love and War**

It wasn't long after he had drifted off that Mello had come into wakefulness again, blinking through the darkness. Luckily the dusty shutters had been closed to ward off whatever sunlight may be trying to ease its way inside. Through the open door leading to the bedroom he could see a vague glint of crimson, denoting that Matt had fallen asleep in his bed, since Mello had insisted on sleeping on the couch, despite the fact that the bed was a good deal more comfortable.

He slid onto unsteady feet, his cheeks tepid because the fever had already begun to diminish. It was fairly certain that the plane wasn't going to leave soon; otherwise, Matt would have been up already. Still, restive Mello packed the necessities, using a reasonable amount of judgment to gauge what he could and couldn't get past security. The guns, though he knew he could maneuver it somehow, would have to stay. His plan wouldn't need to be put into action for awhile after the plane was estimated to land, so it would give him plenty of time to buy a new pistol for not only himself, but for Matt. The other had some fake IDs, he was sure, and seemed to pull a shitload of cash from nowhere, so he trusted in the knowledge that the acquisition of the weapons would run quite smoothly.

Smoother than the actual plan would be, that was for sure.

Once he had gathered everything in a bag and lugged it to the space next to the door, he heard a faint murmur from the bedroom, some rustling and movement, and finally a groggy looking Matt appeared, blinking a few times to banish the sleep from his eyes.

"Mello," he said blandly, clutching tightly to his collar. That injury must only have been a hairline fracture; the redhead was holding up spectacularly for someone who had sustained a broken bone and hadn't received proper medical attention.

"You're awake."

_Evidently._

The elder one cast him a look that reflected sheer exasperation, and, luckily, he took the hint. Rummaging through the refrigerator, one hand still clasped tightly at the collarbone, Matt sighed precariously.

"We leave this morning," he stated. "We should head out in an hour."

"You cut it really fucking close, don't you?" quipped Mello, running a withering gaze over his gathered supplies, and resolving that they were sufficient enough to stay put, he turned his attention to his clothes. Not that Matt didn't have his own little style, but the stripes and jeans just hung off the blonde in an awkward way, possibly because they were so huge in comparison to his lean frame.

"What d'you mean?" inquired an clearly still-tired Matt.

"I mean, I could have chosen not to come at all. You planned this all out as though you knew I was coming."

This comment seemed to coax the most puerile smirk onto the gamer's features.

"Because I did know you were coming," he breathed, as though wanting nothing more than to expel these words. "For one thing, you already had business in Japan set for today that you had told me about weeks ago, and I knew that you weren't just going to stand by and watch me elope with Takada while you stayed behind and tried to reschedule your undoubtedly _ingenious _plot."

"It wouldn't have been any sweat off of my back."

This last was spoken softly, a tone of voice that was almost as rare to Mello as compassion. Matt had pinned him rather well with these assumptions. Maybe he had lived with the other too long. All the same, he wasn't so sure where he stood on allowing the redhead to throw his life away for some woman that was bound to kill him as soon as she was instructed to do so. Then again, he wasn't all that convinced that he even loved her in the first place. He certainly didn't act like it, the way talked about her.

Yet he cared about Mello and still called him an asshole, and was all but apathetic in the other's presence, as though Mello was just someone else who had wandered into his midst, and deserved to be treated as such. The only real display of 'caring' he received from the other at all, actually, was his loyalty, and he seemed damn loyal to Takada if he was going to just give her his life wrapped in multicoloured ribbon and sealed with a kiss.

Hell, Mello didn't know what to think of this.

He looked up, maybe about to question him about this conundrum, but was met with a swift blow to the face. It hurt like a bitch, but luckily Matt, whom he hadn't noticed approaching, hadn't struck the side of his face that was already wounded. Rubbing the afflicted area, which had just been connected with the other's fist, he snarled.

"What the fuck was that, jackass?" he demanded.

Matt examined his knuckles interestedly.

"It was for being an unfeeling son of a bitch," he said through clenched teeth, obviously from the pain of the feat, though still managed a small smile.

Mello could have reciprocated the attack, but instead shook it off atypically, figuring his revenge would be paid when the other went off with Takada. There was no way he would live long staying with her…

Scowling and ducking into the bedroom, the blonde sought to change out of Matt's clothing in predilection of something more tasteful. He closed the door behind him and slid off his pants, finding that the other hadn't bothered to put underwear on him. It made Mello grimace; great, he had been seen not only helpless, but also naked. Now the redhead really deserved a punch to the jaw.

Pulling on a new pair of pants and divesting himself of his shirt, he vaguely heard the door whistle open and shut again, and the springs of the bed squeak as it was met by a sudden weight. Once the shirt was removed, he blinked to see Matt sitting there.

"What do you want?" he growled, quite perturbed to have been barged in on while he was changing. Then again, he had been fully exposed not long before; a lack of a shirt here and there really couldn't compare.

"I need to ask you a question," he breathed unconcernedly.

Mello glared for a minute, then rolled his eyes and rummaged for a shirt. He might as well.

"Fine. What is it?"

"When this is all over, I mean, when Kira's gone and defeated, and either you or Near has won, what do you plan to do? If Near wins, will you still be out trying to beat him? If you win, will you succeed L? And in the end, if Kira wins and both you and Near are dead, will you die satisfied? All you've wanted in life is to win. But do you plan to die for it?"

Matt sighed and turned his head, examining a small stain on the floor as though that was the only thing in the world of interest. But he wasn't quite finished.

"Yeah, we've come this far, and it's been fun, but hell, L died trying to catch Kira. Wouldn't it be a waste to throw yourself out along with him? I know you wanna emulate him, Mel', but that doesn't mean you have to die."

Finally, he had finished, ending his rhetoric with a small sigh. Mello stared, eventually giving a small smirk.

"I thought you wanted to ask me just one question," he said, zipping his shirt and slipping back into his element. The only thing missing from that picture was chocolate, which he would end up getting soon.

"Well, yeah…" said a rather shame-faced Matt, though you couldn't tell while he still watched the carpet, not to mention the fact that his thick goggles concealed all emotion. That must have been why he appeared so apathetic about the whole ordeal. "Are you going to answer or not?"

Back to his usual gruff manner, the elder one rolled his eyes and stomped over to sit on the bed as well, though he leaned forward, proactive and ready to leap up at any time to head out and catch the flight. He knew, however, that Matt would warn him if they needed to leave soon. He put at least that much faith in the other.

"It seems like a damn good cause to die for, if you ask me," he replied roughly. "I've been wanting to beat near for more than fifteen fucking years. If I die in the process, at least I'll know that I _did_ something. I tried to be something more than second place, even if I couldn't reach first."

Matt eyed him precariously.

"That's all you care about, winning, or trying to win? You don't have normal dreams like everyone else? Money, happiness, love?"

The other snorted. "Money? I don't need something that materialistic. Happiness? I'll be happy in my success. And love…who do I possibly have to love now?"

All of a sudden, the gamer's gaze hardened. He stood up and went to the door, all the while muttering:

"Nevermind. C'mon, Mello. The plane'll leave without us if we don't get on the road."

Mello was definitely confused by this abrupt halt in conversation, but if this meant making it to the plane in time, he could deal with it. He followed out the door, picking up his packed things and retreating into the outside corridor with his companion.

No words were exchanged for the longest time, not even on the drive there, though when they arrived at the airport Matt muttered a few things, though Mello was sure that they were more to the car than to him; he seemed to have some kind of love affair with the vehicle.

Rolling his eyes, the blonde headed up toward the building and checked in his luggage, undaunted about whether or not the other was following. The crowds were dense, and this irritated Mello. Soon enough, they had reached the terminal, after passing the security with a fair bit of difficulty, and neither of them was in too good of spirits. Still, they were silent, put off by their more recent discussion, though Mello still wasn't sure what had made the other so pissed.

He didn't have long to sit and wait.

"You have some twisted priorities," said Matt off-handedly, fingers twitching in the absence of his usual cigarette. Apparently, smoking was prohibited here, and on the plane too. An expression of distaste flitted across his face as he realized it could be hours before he could smoke, unless he wanted to go somewhere else before the plane took off. Somehow, he knew that Mello wouldn't tolerate the redhead making him wait.

"What are you rambling about now, Matt?" demanded the elder one. He had never heard Matt talk this much in his life.

Matt shrugged it off; he had something important to say, and if Mello didn't want to hear it, he could go straight to hell.

"I mean, you're so focused on your goals, and then you say you have no one to care about. You honestly don't have _anyone_ that you'd feel sorry at their funeral?"

Scowling, he got the hint.

"Are you talking about yourself?"

The other didn't answer.

"For chrissake, Matt, if you wanted some acknowledgement, all you had to do it is ask. You didn't have to whine at me."

"I wasn't whining at you, dumbass. I was giving it to you straight. What, badass Mello doesn't like talking about his _feelings_?" Suddenly, that smoke was greatly appealing.

So, he stood and walked away, leaving Mello to sit on his own. Being as restless as he was, however, he went out walking as well, cleaning out the boutiques for chocolate to fuel his indulgence throughout the flight. He checked a nearby clock; it was an hour until their plane left. That seemed ages away, but planes always had a tendency to run ahead of schedule. Soon, he began thinking of what tomorrow promised; kidnappings and danger, that was a given.

Mello began to stroll through the food court, not looking to eat, but merely to look. At a lonely table not far away sat Matt, dragging deeply on a cigarette in the smoking section. As filthy as the habit was, and how discontent he would be in a perpetual cloud of second-hand smoke, he went and sat down with the other anyway, casting him a lazy stare and stretching over the booth's cushioned seat.

"What do you want?" the redhead demanded, mimicking Mello's usual gruff tone. He ignored it.

"I want you to top acting like an immature idiot. The plane'll leave in forty-five minutes, and we need to be at the terminal in fifteen."

"I'm not done," he said, waving his cancer stick around indicatively.

There was a long pause.

"You know I appreciate you Matt," said the blonde, not looking at the other to lessen the effect of these words. He hadn't ever said them before, and he hadn't planned to…but they were always on hand, ready to use on the edge of his subconscious if ever he developed the sentiment of caring that seemed to be so foreign to him.

"I know," said Matt, though he was unable to conceal the grin that was spreading across his face. "That's why I wanted to hear you say it."

Another silence, but this one was filled by a creeping smile that was faintly growing on Mello's expression as well. The younger one tilted his head, stood up, and began to walk away, but not before looking back as though there was something genuinely troubling him.

"Y'know, Mel', I haven't seen you smile like that for almost ten years." He gave a Cheshire smirk. "It's kind of nice."

He looked witheringly toward a nearby hanging clock and crushed his cigarette butt into his breast pocket. Disgusting. No wonder he had so many holes in his clothes. Nevertheless, Mello's gaze followed Matt's, and noticed that they would need to leave.

As if reading his mind, the striped one began to quicken his step.

"C'mon, Mello, we'd better get going."


	8. A Conflict of Interest

**VIII. A Conflict of Interest**

Whereas Matt rather enjoyed the high altitude and pleasing interdict that was flight, Mello found it tiresome and was none too favorable with heights. So, while his companion chose the window seat to sit next to and occasionally stare out of while he played a silent game of Mario DS, the blonde took comfort in the inside seat, chewing absently on a piece of chocolate from the many he had bought from the various boutiques in the airport.

Hours passed, in which Mello got up more than a few times to walk up and down the aisles, drawing attention from the attendants, who eventually directed him back to his seat and made sure he stayed there. Being treated like a child that needed to be looked after put a dark feeling in his gut, and he began to whisper his discontent to Matt, who was only half listening in the wake of trying to beat the castle on level four. Mello noticed this and apprehended the game for a few seconds, only to hand it back after enduring at least five minutes of pouting from the younger one.

"You're a baby, Matt," he said, rolling his eyes over to the seats across the aisle, which were occupied by an elderly Asian couple.

"And you're a jackass. We're even."

And after this, there was an all-encompassing silence, leaving Mello to sit uncomfortably again, angry eyes glaring disdainfully ahead until the plane speakers announced that there was only a minimal amount of time left before they landed. As excited as he was about getting off this godforsaken plane, he still had an important matter to attend to:

He had to tell Matt about his intentions in Japan.

It wasn't as though he would question what they had to do, but he felt that he at least should tell him that he was going to kidnap the woman he had possibly fallen in love with.

"Matt," he said, shoving the other as though he was deaf instead of distracted since he was playing his game. Disgruntled, he turned to look at Mello.

"Whadda you want?" he inquired, saving his progress and snapping the handheld shut to tuck in his pocket.

"I'm going to tell you the plans," he said, then halted, looking around. There were probably wires and cameras everywhere, concealed monitors for any suspicious activity. "In the men's room when we get off the plane."

Matt glared at him solemnly, but nodded, looking out the window for the remainder of the time as they descended. With an almighty bump and some skidding on the tarmac, they were thundering toward the Tokyo airport, slowing to a stop only when they were near enough to the doors.

With certain hurriedness, Mello brushed down the aisle, Matt struggling to keep up. He shoved through the crowd, showing little mercy to anyone who happened to be ambling along in front of them. Once, even, the blonde shoved a frightened girl holding a plastic pink backpack to the ground, earning a venomous look from her mother and a whispered warning from Matt. Soon, they had reached a none-too-populated bathroom. So much so that it even looked deserted.

"So what's your grand plan?" inquired Matt as they wheeled inside. He even took the liberty of unzipping his fly, and when he received a glower from Mello, his excuse was: "What? I need to go."

"We're kidnapping Takada," he said, deciding to be blatant in order to avoid sparing his feelings.

The redhead stared, lips turned into a slight frown.

"You know…I…"

He didn't get a chance to finish.

"What? You're going to back out? Because you _love _her?"

"I wasn't going to say that."

"But you were thinking it."

"Just fucking listen, Mello. Stop overreacting."

"Fine. What?"

"I still love her," he said, taking a cigarette out of his breast pocket, despite the fact that they were in a bathroom. He lit it up, taking a few gratuitous drags before turning his eyes to his partner. "I guess you don't understand that. But…it'd be unforgivable to choose her over you. I've known you longer."

Mello leaned against the tile wall.

"What if we end up having to kill her? What will you do then?"

"I love her," he repeated, looking sick and pallid under the fading fluorescent lights. "I love her."

There was a long silence, in which there was only the repugnant smell of nicotine. Mello didn't bother to act angry with the habit.

"But I love you more."

The elder one jerked his head to look at Matt, who didn't look so nonchalant at the moment. His thousands of smokes had caught up with him, apparently, because his eyes were far away and his cheeks were sunken and accented with shadows.

"Don't go all faggoty on me now, Matt," said Mello weakly, trying to make light of the situation, where the job usually would have been the gamer's.

But he had taken on Mello's usual disposition: deadly serious and dangerously angry. The redhead suddenly snatched the leather front of his companion's shirt and shoved him against the cracked wall of tile.

"I'm fucking serious!" he said. "Take me seriously, Mello, or I can't die for you. I can't take you seriously."

"Then what do you want me to do?" demanded Mello, now attempting to shove the other off. He never knew Matt was so strong until now.

And what was stranger was that Matt had no idea what he wanted, or where he was going with this. He loved Takada, but was he willing to deny Mello for her? And he respected Mello…but were his feelings for him an equivalent to those he had for Kiyomi?

"Whadda you think, Mel'?" he said, tone unexpectedly cooled.

"I think you're a crazy bastard."

"No more than you are."

"Alright, then, I think you're a crazy faggot."

"Maybe."

Matt let go, now ostensibly composed, lighting up another cigarette for the cause and turning around.

"Sure, I'll help you," he said. "But you have to tell me one thing: do you really want my help?"

Mello rolled his eyes; and he thought he was the melodramatic one.

"Matt…"

"Answer the goddamn question."

"Fine. Yes, Matt, I want your help. No, fuck that, I need it. Now are you going to stop being a melodramatic prick?"

"I guess I could try," said Matt, grinning and exiting the bathroom, clearly pleased. In fact, he remained pleased all the way up until they reached the Japanese motel that the redhead had pre-booked along with the plane tickets, and assured Mello that it was cheap and efficient. The elder begged to disagree, but eventually let the matter drop; any place to stay was better than none.

And so they got settled in, Mello going over the plans aloud as they stowed things away, which wasn't much. Eventually, he was forced to reiterate the scheme to a half-empty room and his companion, who was sprawled lazily across the bed, garish colours of the handheld dancing across the reflection in his goggles.

"Are you listening?" demanded Mello, put off by the fact that the other hadn't so much as looked at him once during his grim narrative.

Matt tossed him a probing look, then sighed and rolled into a sitting position.

"You want me to make a scene at Takada's showing by shooting off a bullet or two into the crowd, thereby drawing the attention of her guards and allowing you to make off with her with Hal's help. Then, if I'm still alive after the whole ordeal's over, I'm to meet you at the backlot of the factory near the airport that you pointed out in the taxi. Then, somehow, we're going to whisk little Miss Kira onto a plane back to New York city."

Again, his ability to listen and play games were astonishing; not to mention the fact that he talked about Takada as though she were just an object. He was damn good at concealing his feelings, a trait that Mello envied more than anything.

Maybe Near.

"You listened," said the blonde, making a point to hide the fact that he was mildly impressed.

"Amazing, no?" said Matt silkily, standing up. "I'm going out. Need anything?"

"Yeah. Take this."

Mello handed him a plastic card. "It's a firearms license, good anywhere, even here. There's a note attached to it telling what model you need. Pay careful attention and read everything I wrote, otherwise something could go wrong, and that's the last thing I need this far into things."

The gamer studied it for a minute, mentally noting that each model listed had a long title and a decent epilogue about how it was to be handled and bagged, and he wondered how suspicious he would seem running off these procedures for a Japanese man.

"How am I supposed to translate this?" he inquired, suddenly struck by a sudden realization.

"Try it on your laptop. I'm sure you could get a translation on one of those online programs."

Matt was about to point out that internet translators weren't always the most reliable, but held his tongue when he figured that he had a suitable one installed in one of his laptops. The only problem with that was figuring out which one (of the several he had felt the need to lag along with him) held that little gem of software.

It took him a good long time, but he finally found it and had the note translated into what he assumed was correct Japanese grammar. He shoved both the card and the two sheaves of paper into his back pocket and stretched, stored all of his laptops into a corner next to the bed.

"Okay, now I'm going," he remarked to the blond who was now draped across the chair that belonged to the desk in the opposite end of the room. Struck by a fleeting, suicidal urge, Matt scampered over to Mello and kissed him firmly on the lips, avoiding the punches, curses that followed him out the door of the motel.

"See ya!" he called, jogging to stay out of the other male's reach, laughing maniacally as he went.

Hell, it was always fun to mess with Mello.


	9. Misery's Company

**IX. Misery's Company**

Matt came back several hours later, apparently exhausted and lugging a couple of bags into the room. The blonde glanced up at him from his readied space at the motel provided desk, having dragged out one of the redhead's many laptops and working feverishly on it.

"Couldn't have asked, could you?" the younger one commented, tossing a heavy paper bag onto the single bed before dropping himself on it as well. The rest of the bags that he had brought in were abandoned on the floor, obviously not important enough to be handled with the rest. This, of course, was because the selected bag was Mello's, and therefore merited special attention. Not to mention that there were guns in it. They weren't loaded, of course, but just the thought of having guns in such close proximity was disconcerting.

"You weren't here, so I used your laptop," Mello quipped apathetically. "Don't complain."

"Right, right. I just thought you were a little more courteous than that. Silly me."

The blonde murmured something that may have been 'asshole', but Matt didn't bother to be sure. He laid back, dropping his head against the bedspread with a muffled sigh of content, then rolled over on his side to prop himself up on his palm. Finding this to be a chore, he retrieved a handheld again from his pocket, inwardly lamenting the fact that he hadn't brought a better console. Oh, well. If all went the way Mello intended it to, they'd be back in America in due time, and thus back where Matt could get some good gaming in.

"Did you get what I asked you to?" he asked, his voice clearly hinting something. This made the gamer laugh, and in spite of Mello, he took both handguns simultaneously from the bag and waved them around carelessly. It was easy to play around with them knowing that without bullets, they were just sculpted hunks of metal.

"Right here, boss," he said, lips turning upward into the semblance of a smirk.

Mello, however, was in no mood to jest. "Put those away, dumbass. I was just asking a question."

"Oh right." He sheepishly stowed the weapons back into the bag and then proceeded to put the bag under the bed. Mello surveyed the place where they had once laid with a conflicted eye, and then stood.

"We'll have to find somewhere to put those without having the cleaners poking through."

Matt silently agreed, instinctively looking around for an inconspicuous place to put the guns; none immediate appeared to him, but he knew that he would eventually find someplace. If not today, then first thing tomorrow morning. Still, they didn't have long. It was assumed that Mello would want to move immediately tomorrow, though Matt was sure that he could convince him to prolong the kidnapping to sometime later in the evening.

"Alright," he said, finally voicing his assent. "So what are we doing today?"

Mello didn't answer at first, contemplating something before going over to the bed.

"You mean tonight. In case you haven't noticed, it's ten o' clock."

"I thought the almighty Mello wasn't bound by the strictures of time."

"That's what you get for thinking, ass. I'm going to sleep. I have a lot of things to do tomorrow."

He spoke as if Matt had no clue what he planned to do tomorrow, though maybe he was right; the redhead had, after all, tried to block out the scenario with one of his own devise, trying to alleviate his variant mind by convincing himself that what he was doing was something other than kidnapping the woman he loved in favour of Mello…

And he had no idea what he felt about Mello anymore.

Somehow, it went past loyalty and friendship, and whatever else he had convinced his relationship with the other entailed. He had given up self-delusion long ago.

Mello, on the other hand, was only confused by Matt's decisions so far, about Takada and everything else. He felt as though all these conflictions were needless, especially in the face of what they were about to do. He'd have to pick a side and stick with it, or else his life would be a hell of a lot more difficult.

Banishing these unsettling thoughts to slide onto the bed, not bothering with the dressings, he draped the back of his hand against his forehead to produce some coolness against it with the leather of his gloves, and closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them again, staring confusedly at Matt, who had lain down as well.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, rolling up to support his slim frame with one propped up arm.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Matt asked loftily, making himself comfortable and tugging his goggles off. He was tired too, after all, and there was no way he was going to be condemned to the floor. Unfortunately, by the look on Mello's face, it appeared as though he had no choice in the matter.

"I'm not letting you sleep with me."

"Then sleep on the floor, or on that chair."

"Hell no."

"Then you can stand me sleeping here for a little while." The younger male rolled over pointedly, as though closing the matter.

But Mello wasn't done yet.

He sat up completely, eyeing the other with obvious contempt. Leaning over in one sweeping movement, he heaved the redhead off of the bed, who yelped and scrambled to stay atop of it, but instead ended up flat on his back, growling as he sat up.

"Real nice, Mel'," he moaned, but wasn't giving up just yet. That would only be giving the obstinate blonde what he wanted, and instituting his authority over Matt even further. He didn't mind doing what the other said and following him unquestioningly, but when Mello governed his life, well, that's when he had to step in.

And when Matt actually got up off of his lazy ass to do something, things got serious.

So, the gamer stood, contemplating his reaction. He had no doubt that if he tried to climb back onto the bed, he'd just earn being pushed off again, or worse. And at the rate that his collarbone was healing, he'd hate to have it fractured or sprained again.

An idea struck him in the form of a sly grin, which spread across his face as he neared the bed again, crawling on it and enacting his idea before Mello had the chance to turn and shove him off again. Matt pounced on the other, wrapping his arms around his waist, where there was less of a vantage point to break his arms, and buried his head into his lower back. The blonde stiffened, and with a curse that sounded suspiciously like 'crazy faggot', he began to thrash. Matt was surprisingly strong, or at least strong enough to last until Mello ceased his furious struggling.

"You're a son of a bitch," he stated cruelly.

"So I've been told."

Mello shifted once more, the idea of his companion curled around him while he sat passively quite unfamiliar to him. He, to be quite frank, hated this submissiveness.

"Alright, fine. You can sleep on the bed. Now will you let go?"

Matt thought about it. "No, I think I'll sit like this for a little while. You know, to teach you a lesson."

This was complete bullshit, of course.

Mello muttered something else, but it was unheard and unnecessary. Because, if Matt really did say so himself, he was quite comfortable; maybe he'd end up sleeping like this. No, probably not. The irate elder probably wouldn't let him. This was unfair, he reasoned to himself. Couldn't he humour the redhead for once in his life before he was about to march into certain death to kidnap the woman he loved?

What he didn't expect to happen, however, was that only moments later, the leather-clad male fell asleep. Matt knew this only because he attempted to roll over on his back, on top of Matt, who bewilderedly detached himself from Mello and scooted to his side. Alright, he'd had his fun. He could let the other have his precious sleep before their next to impossible task the following day, which was still rather daunting to the both of them.

He watched the ceiling for awhile, a scene unfolding on the creased white paint:

Takada was aiming a gun at Mello, who was in turn aiming a gun back. They were locked in that position for so long that Matt could have sworn they were statues, beautifully and artfully carven. Finally, though, he himself entered the picture. The two frozen figures didn't budge an inch. The redhead tried to incite some sort of reaction from either of them, but none appeased him; he soon gave up, turning only a fraction of an inch. But in that time, a gunshot rang out, causing him to turn violently and catch sight of Mello doubled over on the ground, Mello bleeding profusely, Mello staring up with crystalline eyes, sadistic orbs.

"Son of a bitch," he called, his voice sounding strange, mocking the way he had said it earlier. "You chose her over me, didn't you? You bastard. You asshole. Go to hell."

This last note was strangled as the Mello ghost gagged crimson and slumped over, the weakness of death something that Matt had never before experienced in his friend. He just didn't seem to share the same mortal traits. And yet, here he was, cold and lifeless by the bullet of Takada Kiyomi, though she was no where in sight.

No, he decided.

He didn't choose her over Mello.

Her love was a folly, and the blonde had been right.

Tomorrow he would help Mello, and they would damn well beat the fucking pants off of Near. Screw Kira, screw death.

Matt hadn't realized that he had been dreaming, though his dream had been vivid. He couldn't shake it from his mind, and yet Mello looked so damn peaceful, as though he hadn't been dreaming at all. Eventually, the leather-clad one stirred and sat up, bewildered to find someone else in his bed. It took him a moment to register Matt's face, but when he did, he rolled his eyes and slid onto his feet, looking around to him.

"We don't have long to get prepared," he told the other, rummaging around for another bar of chocolate as a pre-breakfast treat. "Do you want me to go over the plan again?"

"I think I've got it," sighed Matt, standing as well, stretching, and pulling on his goggles, his vest, and taking out a cigarette for good measure. Mello opened his mouth to protest, but it was met with a:

"Just lemme smoke one, for chrissake."

Mello murmured his disapproval silently for quite while, finally slipping into his jacket and tossing himself into the desk chair and tapping away pointlessly at the laptop that was left there.

They could both be assured that it would be a long and strenuous wait for the evening.


	10. Fulfillment

**X. Fulfillment**

Despite any preparations that Mello may or may not have made, it was never enough. A few hours later, Matt looked over to find the blonde missing, and he recalled one of the events of the nights before: Mello had rejected a bar of chocolate. As odd as that seemed, he still couldn't help but to wonder if it really had something to do with Takada's kidnapping. He never struck the younger male as someone to become anxious enough about a kidnapping of that magnitude; after all, according to Mello's declaration about his past after he left the orphanage, this was nothing new. He had been in even more dire scrapes before.

What was so different now?

Disregarding the question in his mind momentarily to sit up groggily in his seat and rub his eye sockets. He was still tired, but he knew that eventually he'd have to get over it and get his ass in gear. Tonight was Takada's opening, and there was no way Mello was going to let him laze around just beforehand, else he withstand a hell of a lot of nervous complaining on the blonde's part. But he put up with it still, since his loyalty for him had at least increased since the time the elder one had first showed up.

Matt called his affection for Mello loyalty and reverence; awe and tolerance. Well, that was then. This was now. Now, he suddenly labeled this admiration as friendship and maybe even a little bit of devotion.

Synonym being love.

Then again, Matt was way too badass to find himself smitten with Mello, and admit it, too. His confession earlier wasn't serious…he had convinced himself of that the moment he had said it. Just a ploy. It was just a ploy to appeal to Mello's emotional side. That was it; that was all. No ulterior motives hid there. So as he swung himself off of the hotel chair he had grown bored with, even after playing through multiple levels of Lunar: Dragon Song. You knew you were in trouble when video games ceased to fill your boredom.

Or maybe this was because Mello was gone…?

Whatever the reason, it was starting to get on his nerves, since if he grew bored with one thing, Mello always had something for him to do. Strangely enough, even though this was the day that they were supposed to execute the kidnapping, the blonde had been mute with his usual instructions. This definitely meant that something was up, and when Mello was unsettled, Matt was as well.

He didn't have long to broad, much to his relief. The other had returned, expression daunting. He cast a quick glance to Matt, and then threw himself into the seat he had previously occupied.

"What's up?" the redhead asked, lifting coloured irises to stare questioning at Mello.

"I brought you this," he said, drawing a bag from inside his jacket and handing it to Matt, who took it curiously.

"A present? How thoughtful."

He ignored Mello's scowl of disapproval at this jest and retrieved what looked like a really fancy gun.

"I thought we already had guns," he commented, examining it.

"We do," the other one replied. "This one is for the diversion."

Oh, yeah. He should have figured he wouldn't be using an actual gun to draw the attention of Takada's guards, in fear of hurting—or at worst killing—someone. Small cartridges littered the bottom of the bag, bullets for this new gun probably. It vaguely reminded him of picking up ammo on Halo 2.

He stowed the bag away with the guns, and then stopped to look at Mello, who was determinedly examining the wall. He looked like he was deteriorating; it was kind of sad to look at, since he was such a strong person. A strong person who was finally unraveling at the seams…

If Mello no longer carried that air of self-confidence he was known for, who then could Matt admire?

He strode up to the other with a measured slowness, hesitantly reaching out to touch his shoulder. Mello jumped violently, twisting in his seat to aim a few good curses Matt's way.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Now stop touching me."

"You don't sound fine."

"Did you hear me? I said stop touching me."

"What'll you do if I don't?"

Mello stomped to his feet and aimed a punch at Matt's shoulder; the one that was not injured. It was meant to be a warning, but the gamer took it all too seriously. He was prepared for it. He took Mello's fist in his hand and twisted it in such away that he was able to effectively shove him up against the wall and pin him there.

It was obvious that the blonde was _not _happy about being outdone. He grew furious.

"What the fuck? Let me go!"

"Tell me what's wrong."

Matt, as ever, remained completely calm. Perhaps he really didn't want to know what was wrong with Mello, since it was apparent that he _already _knew. They were planning one of the most dangerous missions in Japan, given who Takada was. And more importantly, who she was connected with. He resolved that the only reason he was trapping the other under his irrevocable fingertips was that he didn't want him to go anywhere, not yet. They were going to go get themselves killed within hours for chrissake. Couldn't he give his best friend at least ten minutes of his time?

Or maybe just a second…just one. He owed that to him.

There was a long pause. Obviously, Mello wasn't going to talk. He considered Matt's question very ignorant, and ignorant questions deserved the same type of answer. Which in this case was none. Apparently, Matt understood this.

"Alright, alright," he confessed. "I know what's wrong. It's just…can't I do something for you? I dunno…monitor something. Track or bug someone. _Something_."

"I thought you'd appreciate the break," said Mello scathingly. "You'll be able to have a precious few more moments to play your mind-rotting games."

"But I…"

Matt looked clearly hurt, though in a placid way that only showed by a glimmer of desperation that traced a hazy outline around his pupils. It was so subtle, and yet Mello noticed it.

"I have to help you somehow, Mel'."

"Why?"

Why? What could he say? It was a routine, and he found comfort in Mello's presence? Helping Mello brought purpose to his life where it had not been before? He wanted to please Mello? He wanted to do something meaningful before they went through with something that was likely to kill him, and helping Mello was more meaningful than anything just because he was important to him?

Sure, most all of these things were true.

But could he…would he really put any of them into words?

"I need you to use me," he said finally. "I want to be of some use to you, Mel'. C'mon."

The elder one appeared as though he was seriously giving the matter a fair bit of thought. His thinking face, however, looked quite austere, much like most of his other expressions, so it was hard to tell. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, a temporary fix for the stern expression. Hell, now he looked almost human.

"Why do you want to help me so much? What's in it for you?"

"Do you honestly need a reason?" demanded Matt, knowing that this was Mello; of course he'd need a reason. And a damn good one, too.

"Yes." As was expected, and this time, Matt had thought up a counter-attack.

"It's the closest I can get, Mello. As close as I can get to you…because you're a reclusive ass who flirts with danger and doesn't even know that there are actually some people out there that would really care if he died. You're selfish and callous. You're you. And it drives me fucking insane. Can't I do whatever possible to keep up with you?"

Mello finally was able to shrug him off, gazing at the clock, realizing what time it was, and that they'd have to get going if they wanted to set everything before hand. He looked back to Matt gravely and exhaled as though expelling every word he had previously taken in.

"We ought to get going, Matt."

_Is he serious?_

Matt had poured his soul out, wanting to get some recognition, and he got this instead? Being ignored. He wanted desperately to beat the living shit out of Mello. Instead, he did something even more surprising:

He wheeled the ascetic male around and kissed him full on the lips. There was no ardor there; no passion or love behind the movement of his lips over Mello's. Just severe anger and desperation, a yearning to somehow show the other what he could not express with words, since he had no words to lay claim to.

Mello seemed to have frozen for a moment, eyes glazed over by the suddenness of this attack. His stomach curled to the back of his gut, withdrawing from the offending contact as though it too could be touched by zealous lips. After a moment, a long spell where time did not exist to count the minutes they had been standing there, Matt broke away, cheeks enflamed. He didn't say a word, but simply shuffled out the door with the guns and a fresh pack of cigarettes, not to mention the keys to the rented vehicles he had sorted out over the internet using a false credit card account. Not entirely the same one used to buy the plane tickets, I case the two could be linked. Mello had passed some of his irrational paranoia onto Matt.

"Yeah, we ought to go."

And without another word, they exited their hotel room. Mello cast another wistful glance backward (though you couldn't necessarily classify it as wistful just by looking at his face), staring at where his chocolate lay, then to Matt, who had diverged to a different direction to take the car, while Mello was left to the motorcycle. He had just been kissed by Matt. Odd…he didn't feel anything because of it. No disgust, no pleasure.

Maybe because he knew that was the end of it; Matt had decided their fates for them, whether they made it out of this predicament alive or not.

Walking the opposite way toward his rented bike, flinging one leg over its sleek leather exterior, Mello sped off.

See you soon, Matt.

It was on the brink of dusk when the blonde found himself preceding Takada Kiyomi's caravan of guards and supporters. The crowd was loud and obnoxious, as all crowds went, but Mello really didn't hear them. Focused on the task ahead, and the wind roaring in his ears, he barely even heard the _boom_ and the screams of frightened people who scattered at the smoke shot Matt had shot out. As predicted, no one was injured.

Time to move.

Mello sped the bike around in an intricate circle and sought Hal and Takada in the crowd, shuddering to a violent halt.

"Let me take her to safety," he said, or something of the like; his own words were drowned in the chaos. "Takada, get on the bike! Hurry!"

Hal, as rehearsed, allowed the Japanese woman to cling to Mello, frightened, and had only managed to wrap her arms around his thin frame before they were speeding off. They hadn't gotten far before guards began pursuing them. Well, this wasn't necessarily expected; Hal hadn't been supposed to send a trail after them, despite the fact that they could be easily rid of. Mello clasped a pair of handcuffs on his new captive, much to her chagrin, and spun into a backroad. The bike wasn't all too accepting of this tactic, but it worked in brushing off the pursuers.

They road for what seemed like hours, though Mello knew very well that they hadn't been that long. Even so, night had fallen, making the task of escaping to his predetermined location tricky, regardless of the fact that they were relatively safe under the cover of night.

Finally, the location. Another shuddering stop was made into the back of a large moving truck. He instructed her to get off the bike and into the truck, unlocking the cuffs. She obliged, not that she had a choice. It was inherently obvious that Mello was carrying a gun, it sticking out of the crotch of his pants.

He tonelessly instructed her to take off her clothes, having recited this all to himself before. He gave her a blanket, feeling that it was appropriate to do so. Something about staring at the woman Matt had fallen in love with naked was rather nauseating…

…for one reason or another.

But this chore was soon done, and Mello was able to slip into the driver's seat and turn the key in the ignition. They sped off again, this time at a variable lesser speed than before, when they had been on the bike. They were disguised now…they were…

The television on the dashboard flickered to a familiar scene.

The car that Matt had been driving was parked in the middle of a four-way intersection, abandon. Mello stared solely at this picture, and suddenly tuned in to the woman's voice, who was speaking in rapid Japanese. He couldn't understand all of it, but a good majority translated itself smoothly into his ears:

Matt was dead.

Mello then put his selective emotions to use. Ordinarily, his practise of selective emotions usually morphed his outward feelings into anger. Now, it led him to reflect only a blank look, a far away expression.

"I'm sorry, Matt…I got you killed…"

His stomach turned.

And yet he continued to drive. On and on he ventured, only vaguely knowing now where he was going, up until he arrived at that point, much to his surprise. He switched the gear to park. Thoughts swam sporadically in his head.

Beat Near. Beat Near. That's all I want to do…that's all I ever wanted to do….c'mon, Matt, you aren't dead. I need to use you…Beat Near. Beat…

A familiar pressing feeling bore down on his chest, but this one was all too real, unlike the one he had felt not long ago in his dream. His breathing became laboured, and the only real sound was the tempo of his thundering heart.

_I'm finished._

He hadn't beaten Near, after all. He was going to die second, just as he had lived. It just wasn't fair. It wasn't…

"_And in the end, if Kira wins and both you and Near are dead, will you die satisfied?"_

No, he couldn't die satisfied, because he still wasn't first. He couldn't die fulfilled because he hadn't beaten Near.

But then there was Matt.

And really, honestly, _sincerely, _maybe he was a success all on his own.

The one thing Mello had done right.

The one thing he could honestly say he liked about his life, and maybe even his death.

But Mello didn't die satisfied, propped up against the steering wheel, eyes glazed over, unable to see.

But goddamn did he finally feel good.

FIN.


End file.
